


If I Keep My Eyes Closed, He Looks Just Like You

by sequence_fairy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Prostitution, Unrequited Sheith, references to past sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 07:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: It’s six months after mission failure, and Keith knows he needs to keep his knife easy to pull, knows he needs to make sure that he’s up to date at the free clinic just north of the base, and he knows which bars he can work in and which ones he needs to avoid. He also knows that somewhere, out there in the caves, he will find the answers he’s looking for.





	If I Keep My Eyes Closed, He Looks Just Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Keith, hooking in the desert, staying on top of his expenses in whatever ways that he can. Unrequited Sheith. NSFW + Angst. 
> 
> Thanks to Boot, Heather, Kelsey and Vicci, y'all give me wings.

The bar bathroom is dingy, as they are wont to be, but Keith’s not paying attention so much to the dirty sink, the graffiti printed walls or the stained linoleum floor. He is, however, paying close attention to the press of a chest at his back, the hands on his hips, and the sound of the door snicking locked behind them. Even with the door shut, he can still hear the rumble of conversation under the twangy country music someone’s put on the jukebox and a woman’s raucous laughter rings out over everything else.  

Behind him, the guy steps back, the loss of his warmth making Keith turn his head. “So, how do you want this?” the guy asks, and Keith can hear that he’s not from here; there’s something midwest in those words, and that suits Keith fine. As a general rule, he’s not against doing townies, but it’s always easier if there’s no possibility of meeting them again in the daylight. Keith shucks his gloves, tucking them into his back pocket and turns around fully.

The guy is well-built; tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. A squared-off jaw and hands that would span nearly the whole way around one of Keith’s thighs round him out. If Keith has a type, well, he figures he’s allowed, it’s not like he ever tried that hard to hide it. The guy crowds him further into the bathroom until Keith’s back hits the far wall. Every step he takes is sticky under the tread of his boots, but Keith ignores it in favour of looking up at the man through his fringe. Keith watches the other man’s pupils dilate, watches him lick his lips and then feels his hand bunch in Keith’s shirt near his hips. 

Keith keeps his eyes on him as the man’s palm spreads, warm and flat, against his stomach. Keith’s cock twitches with interest in his pants, and Keith’s hands come up, sliding up under the man’s shirt, fingers pressing into the muscle on either side of his spine. The other man blinks slowly as he steps forward, into Keith’s space, rucking a thigh between Keith’s and pressing hard. Keith’s breath goes out of him in a gasp. The pressure fuels the hot, sweet swoop of arousal in his gut.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” the guy rasps, breath hot against Keith’s ear. His wheat blonde hair is cropped short, and Keith pulls his hands out from his shirt, and twines them around his neck instead, rocking his hips forward, fingers pushed into the soft fuzz at the base of the man’s skull.

“That’ll cost you extra,” Keith says, letting his voice go husky, and ignoring the twist of shame in his gut that still colours his cheeks, even after nearly six months of creatively keeping his monthly budget in the black. The guy nods, agreeable. Keith figured he would be, the ease with which he’d picked him up at the bar had made it obvious he’d been purposefully looking for something he thought Keith could offer. “Half now,” Keith says, keeping his voice pitched in that low dark rumble.

The guy backs off a touch, enough to get his hand into his back pocket, and fumble out his wallet. Keith keeps his arms around his neck, keeps their hips pressed together, feels the man’s length firming in his jeans, and pretends he’s not watching him peel twenties off his billfold.

Even if he’s not willing to pay for an actual fuck, Keith’ll have enough from whatever he is willing to pay for to cover expenses for at least a couple of days, maybe longer if he skips a couple meals until he can pick up another job at the shop. Keith lets one of his arms drop to take the proffered cash, and thumbs through, confirming the amount and therefore, the agreed-upon next step. He nods, and stuffs the bills in his own back pocket while the guy puts his wallet away.

Keith leans in, nuzzling down the man’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweat, stale beer and leftover cologne. He rolls his hips, rocking forward. The curl of heat in his gut is useful, but unnecessary, and Keith banks it for later, pulling his head back. He turns his head when the other man leans in for a kiss. The other man doesn’t push aside from a quickly arched brow before dropping his mouth down to the join of Keith's neck. Keith can feel the press of his lips, the scratch of stubble, and the bite of teeth. He moans, arching into the other body, feeling the unforgiving planes of a chest pressed against his own, digging his bitten-off nails into the thick muscles of the man's lower back.

The man's hands wrap tight around Keith's waist, and Keith lets himself be lifted onto his toes, lets himself give in to the looming press of the bigger man, and drops his head back to look at the dirty bathroom ceiling. Water stains in strange shapes litter the tiles, and Keith closes his eyes again, shifting as the other man gets one hand between them, fumbling at his own belt. Keith reaches to help, and the back of his hand brushes against the other man's cock.

It twitches under Keith's questing fingers. Keith wraps his hand around it as soon as the other man's palm finds him and they moan in tandem. The man jacks him slow and dry-palmed. The drag of flesh on flesh is just this side of uncomfortable and Keith hisses, before batting the other hand away, and stepping off the wall. The man steps back with him and Keith crowds him into the stall, pushing him back against the now closed door, and then drops to his knees, damp floor soaking up through his jeans. 

Above him, Keith hears the thunk of the back of the guy’s head hitting the door, and the hiss of his breath as Keith finishes unbuckling the belt and unzipping his fly, pulling the other man’s cock free and he looks up, catching the heated dark blue gaze. Keith deliberately makes a show of licking his palm, and then slides it along the shaft, feeling the heft of velvet weight in his hand. Keith curls his fingers around the length, and strokes him easily. 

It’s not so bad, Keith thinks, as the man’s cock grows to fully hard under his hands. There are worse things he could be doing, he supposes, as he leans in, licking his lips, then throwing a glance up. He keeps his eyes locked on the dark blue above him as he opens his mouth. 

Cock is cock, Keith has learned, and sucking cock is sucking cock, no matter who owns it. Keith is messy about it, because he knows that’s expected of him, knows that the guys on the other side of his mouth like to look down at him with his fine features and big eyes and watch themselves slide in and out of his pretty little mouth. They’ve told him so enough times, and Keith’s always counted himself as a fast learner. 

He licks his way down and back up the shaft and then takes it fully into his mouth, listening for the telltale hitch of breath, and then closes his eyes while he goes to work. The guy puts a tentative hand in Keith’s hair and Keith nods, trying to smile around the cock in his mouth, and the man’s fingers tighten, and Keith lets himself moan, lets himself get into it a little more obviously and brings up his hand to wrap around the base, sliding it along spit-slick skin. 

Working hand and mouth together makes the man moan, and makes his grip tighten further in Keith’s hair, the tingling pain in his scalp making his eyes burn. Keith ignores it, focused instead on not choking, as the guy lets himself go a little bit more, and thrusts forward. Keith breathes through his nose, and swallows, throat working reflexively. 

“Looks so good,” the guy is saying, though Keith isn’t paying attention to the stream of words. The hip under his free hand stutters and Keith backs off, gripping him around the base of his cock, and looks up, again. Blue eyes looks down, and then he’s hauling Keith up off the floor.

Keith lets himself be pulled to his feet and manhandled into position, hands over his head, gripping the stall door. Behind him, the man is patting his pockets. Keith intuits what he’s looking for and drops one of his hands, reaching into his own front pocket. The foil packet crinkles against his fingers and he reaches back to hand it off. While the other man is busy, Keith undoes his belt, and shoves his pants down over the swell of his ass, his spread legged stance keeping them from falling further.

The first press of hands against him makes Keith shiver. The other man is tentative at first, but Keith’s not some shrinking violet and he pushes back against the drag of fingers down the cleft of his ass. Keith can feel hot breath on the back of his neck and he lets his head hang forward, eyes slipping closed as the man breaches him first with one finger and then adds another in quick succession. 

He’s slicked his fingers, and Keith is grateful, he’s not always so lucky. He breathes through the intrusion, grip tightening on the top of the door as the man works him open. Both too soon and not soon enough, the fingers slide out and away, before coming to rest, damp, against his hip. Keith can feel the loom of the man behind him. He lifts his head enough to glance over his shoulder, making sure the man used the condom and then forces himself to relax, to breathe, to go pliant and loose. His chin tips down towards his chest, eyes shut, body faintly trembling with that odd combination of anticipation and the zing of fear. 

It’s easier when he doesn’t have to look, when they don’t want to see his face, because then Keith can keep his eyes shut, can remember the sure grip of someone else’s hand on his shoulder, can imagine the face that goes with the hand-- 

The first real thrust punches the air out of him, and the motion rattles the door. It snaps Keith back to the present, and he gasps, as the man pulls out and pushes back in. One his hands is pressed into the door near Keith’s head and the other is wrapped tight around Keith’s hip. The grip is bruising, but the hot slide of the man’s cock in his ass makes up for it and Keith leans into it, pushing back and arching his spine. 

Keith moans, low and long, and only a third of it is performative. The man's hand on his hip flexes, fingers digging in. Keith bites back another moan as the man’s thrust comes perilously close to the mark. 

“Yeah,” the guy says into Keith's ear, “you're so hot, take it all the way for me, baby.” His breath is warm on Keith’s skin. The banked curl of heat in Keith’s stomach flares as the man slides his hand across Keith’s flat stomach, palm pressing in and pulling Keith back towards him. Keith gasps at the new angle, and the man behind him hisses in a breath. 

It’s easy enough for Keith to pretend, easy enough to imagine that the hand wrapped around him belongs to someone else, that the sighing breath against the back of his neck comes from lips Keith used to imagine kissing. It’s easy enough to sink into the physical sensations, to let them carry him away on their sparking, rushing tide, let himself be carried up and to the edge of the breaking wave, thighs trembling and fingers white-knuckled around the top of the bathroom stall door.

“God,” the man groans, and the hand around Keith’s length slides up and down in a stuttering rhythm, and Keith fights himself back from the edge far enough that he can meet the man’s thrusts. The only sounds he can hear now are skin on skin, the wet slide of bodies together and their harsh breathing. Keith’s orgasm hangs in the balance, held out by sheer force of will while his hips move, rocking back and forward, meeting each downstroke. 

Finally, Keith feels the rhythm break, feels the bite of teeth in his neck, just above the knob of his spine and knows he can let go. His climax rushes through him in a wash of tingling heat, and he spills all over the man’s hand.

They catch their breath.

Keith doesn’t move until the other man steps back, only then does he drop his hands and reach for his own pants. He pulls them up, tucking himself back inside and buttons his fly, ignoring his belt. He turns then, and catches himself in the other man’s eyes. The blue is still heated, but it’s softer now, sated. The man’s mouth curves up into a shape Keith would call a smile if he wasn’t sure what a real one was, lifting up his hand, and Keith doesn’t hesitate. 

His own spunk tastes salty on his tongue, and the first time a john had lifted their hand to his mouth, Keith had recoiled. He’d discovered soon after that a black eye was bad for business, and really, it’s better his own, he reasons, sucking three fingers into his mouth. He catches the man’s wrist in one hand, holding it steady, tongue curling around each finger. 

When he’s done, the man takes his hand back, and wipes it on his thigh. Keith waits. He’s owed the rest of his money and he’s learned not to let them get past him without the cash in his hand, just like he’s learned to take half first, so that even if they try to break his face, and he has to pull the knife he keeps stashed in his boot, he still gets something for his trouble.

“Oh,” the man says, a bit dazed and Keith can’t help the moment of pride that invokes. “Yeah, sorry, gimme a sec.” He fumbles for his wallet and Keith doesn’t stick his hand out, but it’s a near thing. He stuffs the bills into his jeans to join the rest of them in his pocket and then opens the stall, stepping out and towards the sink. Keith presses his palms to the basin, the metal chilling his skin. 

The man doesn’t look at him as he leaves, unlocking the door and stepping back out into the bar. Sound comes in and then goes, as the opening door swings shut behind the man, and Keith hunches his shoulders, giving himself a shake and then looks at himself in the mirror. 

The glass is cloudy, and spotted in places. His reflection distorts oddly, pulling the sharp lines of his jaw and nose into softer shapes. Keith sighs and reaches up to drag a hand through his hair. It falls back down into his eyes anyway. If he’s careful with it, the money in his pocket will stretch til the next weekend, which means he can spend the week out in the caves. 

Now that he’s alone, Keith lets his mind drift, thinking about how he’d found the first carving two weeks ago and how the buzzing insistence in his head had grown to a fever-pitch before he’d woken up flat on his back, the sun pounding down like a lead weight. He’d opened his eyes to the vault of blue sky overhead, cloudless and brilliant. Keith had blinked, noticed the circling vulture and then rolled over, retching. 

Keith remembers that he’d dragged himself back to the bike, and his canteen. He still doesn’t know how long he’d lain there in the open flatland. Now, he flexes his hands, grounding himself in the reality of the wan bathroom light that picks out all the flaws in his skin like glowing brands.

This harsh light, Keith imagines, could also pick out all the hands that have touched him, all the dirty fingerprints on his skin, could bring all the healed bruises back to blooming purple and sickly green. He turns his left arm over, so he can follow the winding white line of a scar near his elbow. His skin had knit well, the scar is only visible because he knows where to look, but still, it’s a reminder of all the things he’s had to do in the last six months in order to survive.

Keith chokes on the bitterness of the word, and grimaces at himself in the mirror. He has survived, and he will keep on surviving. The shifting desert sand doesn’t give up her secrets easily, but Keith is nothing if not tenacious, and he is his own proof that even the most stunted weed can grow if someone remembers to water it occasionally. 

He’s starting to feel unwatered though, starting to feel like this has become far too routine and doubt is starting to creep in unwanted, in the recesses of his mind. He wonders if he’s too far in now, too used to the expediency of a quick bathroom fuck and the exchange of cash for favours, and if he’s starting to forget the exact shape of Shiro’s smile, the exact cadence of his voice, the exact way his fringe fell into his eyes, their exact storm-grey intensity. 

Inhaling shakily, Keith closes his eyes against the tears that burn within them. He sniffs hard, and then tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling again, before shaking his head and pulling on his gloves. He takes one last look at himself in the mirror, hates the way his eyes are still wet and how a flush rides high on his cheeks, and makes for the door. 

He pulls it open and lets the sound swallow him as he weaves his way back to the bar to settle his tab and exchange a curt nod with the bartender. 

Outside, the air is desert cold and Keith breathes in, tasting the metallic bite of frost on the wind. He fishes his bandana out of his pocket, and ties it around his mouth and nose, taking the time to lift his hair out of the way. He slings a leg over the hoverbike and kicks it to life, the sound of the catching start carrying in the stillness of the night. Keith punches it into gear and tears off, the desert falling away behind him in a rush of dust and stars.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come and chat about this or other VLD things on [tumblr](http://sequencefairy.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic).


End file.
